Illinois to Oregon -- Lionbergers: Ashes to Ashes, East to West; A Swiss-American Family's Migration, #1

By Glen B. Lionberger

Farming at the turn of the last century was a hard row to hoe, especially in Nebraska. Relive family travels, travails, triumphs, tragedies, recovery, growth and romance in the early 1900's.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel Lionberger
• Release date: Aug 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393142294

Glen B. Lionberger

Glen B. Lionberger was a midwestern boy born and raised, but, bitten by an Idaho bug in his early manhood, returned to spend his sunset years there, where he had matured and loved.  A WWI veteran, Glen, wrote the three volumes of his family's tragedies and triumphs, in the 1950's/60's.

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PREFACE

This book is written in memory of my Father, Mother, Sister Eva, Brothers Raymond, Dale, Earl, and my Sister Erma and all my brothers and sister now living.

In it, I have attempted to record the history, as well as the lives, in story form of the incidents, accidents, advents and adventures of each of our lives.  I have tried to ‘hew to the line’ at all times, in so far as my memory and the facts which I have been able to obtain from each of you have permitted,and in so far as my knowledge and memory could serve me and have recorded nothing that didn't actually take place as told by others or remembered by me and only in a few instances have I used my imagination, or filled in, and that only because I was not sure of the facts in that particular case.

In writing the book I have endeavored to transplant myself back to the time the events happened and not to project any of the foregoing events into the future.  In other words, I have tried to unfold, not only the lives of all, of the principals involved, but the changes that took place as the years rolled by, not only in our own eyes, but in the economic, social, scientific, and inventive progress of our nation in the last 75 years.

If it is observed that, in so many instances, Isaac and I seem to be somewhat more in the limelight than the others, it is not because of partiality, but, rather, because in so many adventures we were thrown together.

I, also, hope that you will be charitable, to understand that of a necessity I have had to project myself more into the book than I would otherwise desire, because, by far, the largest portion could only be written from my own memory and knowledge of the facts pertaining to all of our lives, and, particularly, to my own.  Otherwise, it would have been impossible to undertake such a task.

And, to all of you who have so faithfully contributed, out of your memory, the material that has helped make this book possible, I thank you and am more than glad to share with you any measure of success my amateurish efforts at book writing may meet.      G.B.L. – 1967

It’s a Long Way to Illinois

On August 25th 1735 John (Hans), Peter, and Lewis Lionberger* arrived in Philadelphia on board the Bilander Oliver from their home in Wittelshiem, France.  Their parents, it is believed, died en route.

In 1749 Peter Lionberger bought 1100 acres of land near Luray, Virginia, in the Shenandoah Valley.  In 1757 John died, it is not sure whether he was the John who came over on the B.O. as according to his will his mother was still alive.  His wife was Barbara and his children John, David, Peter, Elizabeth, Magdalene, Mary, Barbara and Anna.  John married three times, his first wife was Barbara Boyer, his second Barbara Stover, his third Barbara Hershberger.  He had two children, by his first wife, David and Barbara, three by his third, John, Susanna and Peter, by his third, Samuel, Abraham, Joseph, Jacob, Silas, Mary, Leah, Magadalene, Christina, and Rebecca.**

Abraham married Annie Koontz, December 7th 1815.  At that time the name was spelled Leonberger on their marriage license.  To them were born ten children, Barbara, Elizabeth, Jane, Amanda, Isaac, Isabel, THOMAS J., Ambrose, Rebecca Ann, Mary Catherine, and Margeret Frances.

Abraham inherited from his father (John) the farm on the Hawksbill in Page Co., Virginia, where they lived until 1832, when they sold the farm with the full intention of going west.  For some unknown reason they changed their plans and bought a farm in Rockingham Co., Virginia, about 3 miles east and across the river from McGaheyville, and about 30 miles from the Natural Bridge.  This farm was purchased from John Yancy and 4 years later sold to Wm. Yancy.

On May 8, 1837, Abraham loaded their wagons and started with his family to Illinois where they arrived at the home of his brother Jacob (whose farm was located in St Mary's township, Hancock Co, Ill.) on July 8th of the same year.  Having been on the road 2 months, they were a tired and disappointed family as Illinois, at that time, was a wasteland and wilderness with but few cabins, prairie grass, and rosinweeds as tall as the cabins.

On October 15th 1839, Abraham purchased from John Peebler 320 acres for the sum of $2050.00 and, in the course of time, this farm came into the possession of THOMAS JEFFERSON LIONBERGER, Abraham and Anna's son.

Abraham died in the home there June 24th 1868 at the age of 76, his wife Anna proceeded him in death June 15 1850 at the age of 55.  Both were charter members of the School Baptist Hawksbill Church in Virginia, and, after coming to Illinois, became members of the same Church at Providence, uniting there October 20th 1839.  They were lifelong Democrats.

Grandfather Thomas Jefferson Lionberger was born December 21st, 1825, while the family still lived at Luray, Virginia, and was 12 years old when the family moved to Illinois.  On August 29th 1850 he married Sarah Tracy Lionberger, a very distant branch of the Lionberger family known as the La Crosse Lionbergers*6.  Her brothers were Elias, John, Albert, Isaac, and Wiley; her sisters, Rebecca (Murphy), Elizabeth (McNeal), Lyda (Wilson), and Deborah (Coffman).

To Thomas and Sarah were born eleven children, George—June 30th 1851 (died in infancy), Roxanna—January 1st 1853 (died age 8), Viola—July 4th 1855 (died in infancy), Sarah D.—December 29th 1856, Mary—September 27th 1858 (of her we have no further record), Thomas Rush—November 11th 1860, Albert Smith*³—September 12th 1862, Virgina Lee—January 16th 1864, William Dale—July 10th 1869, Isaac—June 28th 1871, and an infant—August 3rd 1873 (no record of name or age).  The above children were all born on the farm which Grandfather Abraham acquired in 1839 consisting of 320 acres and which is located approximately 12½ miles due southeast of Carthage, Illinois.

Grandmother Sarah died March 10th 1877, and is (pre­sumed) buried in one of the two cemeteries on the farm.*⁴  In 1878 Grandfather Thomas J, married Elizabeth Miller to whom were born two sons, Harry and Miller, both died young, Harry—February 11th 1908, Miller—September 29th 1902; as far as known neither married, as there were no children.  Thomas J. died September 13th 1895, and was buried in the Grove Cemetery about a mile from what is known as the Lionberger cemetery.*⁵

Sarah D. was married to Andrew McIntire on August 22nd 1875, their children were Lena (or Alice) George, born June 6th 1876, Ross Jeff, born June 29th 1883, Mabel and Bess, about 1890.  The family homesteaded 160 acres, 7 miles southwest of Wallace, Nebraska.

In the late 1870’s, or early 1880’s, Rush went with his Uncle Ike and/or Rile Tracy out to Buffalo Co., Nebraska in a covered wagon to see a brother (and Uncle) Bert who lived in the Thornton township, 10 miles northeast of Kearney.  Rush returned to Illinois, but came back again, taking with him his brother Albert and they bought the relinquishment on an 160 acre homestead and farmed it, liv­ing in a dugout sodhouse. 

Joining their place on the west was the Samuel W. Thornton farm.  The Thorntons had come there in June 1874 from Washington, Iowa, where he had served in such public offices as City Collector, Assessor, town Marshall and deputy sheriff.  He enlisted in Company C, eighth regiment Iowa infantry in August, 1861 and participated in various skirmishes in Missouri in 1861-62.  In the spring of 1862, he took part in the terrible battle of Shiloh, in which he was taken prisoner on April 6th 1862. He was first taken to Memphis, Tennessee, then Mobile, Alabama, and finally to Macon, Georgia where he was paroled and sent home to await exchange.  However, he soon re-enlisted and took part in the battle or siege of Vicksburg and in Forest's raid on Memphis where he was shot in the thigh and wounded so badly he was confined to the hospital until Feb. 6th 1865 when he was discharged, returning home on crutches which he was obliged to use for some time.

Samuel W. Thornton was born in Madison Co., Ohio, October 23rd 1832, and was married to Sarah A. Larimer on September 14th 1854.  To them were born 8 children, Eva I.—June 5th 1855, William D.—February 24th 1858, Charles A.—November 28th 1860, Mary Etta or Ester—September 6th 1865, MABEL CLARE—February 9th 1870, Lillie Belle—November 10th 1877 (born in Nebraska).

When the Thorntons settled there, in 1874, the country was wild and exceedingly barren, there was no settlement in the immediate vicinity, while wild game was plentiful, such as deer, antelope, and wild turkey.  No grass of any consequence grew except in the draws and Mr. Thornton was obliged to cut all the grass that was within a radius of 2 miles in order to procure enough feed for his stock during the winter.  In July, 1874 the grasshoppers made their first appearance destroying everything green.

The next year the few settlers succeeded in raising a fine crop, considering the extreme newness of the country, but, in the summer of 1876, when the growing crops gave every promise of an abundant yield, the grasshoppers again arose in black clouds on the distant horizon and before nightfall not a green blade was left.  Fortunately, this was the last year of the grasshoppers and, thereafter, the settlers prospered and, in time, Mr. Thornton was able to acquire more land, 'til his holdings were 480 acres.

In the fall of 1886, Mr. Thornton was elected to represent Buffalo County in the state legislature and took an active part in several important measures passed during the session.  Both Mr. and Mrs. Thornton were consistent members of the congregational church and he was also a member of the Grand Army of the Republic.

Being close neighbors it was only natural that the two Lionberger boys would become well acquainted with the Thorton family, and especially two of the girls, Etta and Mabel.  As the former was old enough to be courted, Rush was a frequent caller at the home.  Al, as he was generally called, was very partial to Mabel, but, being of the tender age of fourteen, she was much too young to be courted, according to the customs of the day, which were very rigidly adhered to by her parents.  This, however, in no way deterred Albert from inventing and devising various schemes and excuses for visiting the Thornton home.

The Lionberger boys prospered and built a large barn, with a hay loft.  In it, they held square dances, one of the most popular forms of entertainment in the thinly populated rural sections of the early days, which were too far from the towns to be easily reached by the mode of travel.  Both boys played the fiddle so they were in much demand at all times to furnish the music for dances.  These were held quite regularly and were well attended by the people of the community.  The dances generally lasted until the early hours of the morning at which time they were dismissed by the tune of Goodnight Ladies or the more popular After the Ball is Over.

Etta was teaching school, and one of her pupils was her sister Mabel, but by the first of the year, 1885, Rush's courtship with her had progressed to where he proposed.  They were married January 28th 1885.  Rush, in the meantime, had built a small frame house and Albert stayed on as a single partner, except for two or three trips back to his home in Illinois.

The courtship between Albert and Mabel started in reality about 1887, although, he had a rival in one Chenny Newberry.  However, Albert won her hand and heart and they were married September 25th 1889, in the Thornton home, standing on the buffalo rug and facing the Pilgrims' Progress picture that hung on the wall. 

After their marriage they went back to Illinois and farmed 40 acres near Ferris, about 4 miles northwest of Carthage.  Here, their first child, Eva, was born August 9th 1890, but their joy was turned to sorrow when she died 2 months later on October 9th.  On December 8th 1891, a son, Raymond, was born and, early in 1892, they went back to Kearney. 

In the spring, Albert, and his brothers Will and Ike, took some cattle down into Oklahoma but couldn't get there, because of some quarantine, so, came back and all took up homesteads near Wallace, Nebraska, where their oldest sister Sarah and her family had settled.

Albert homesteaded 60 acres 7 miles southwest of Wallace and built a house and large barn on it, but, though the soil was rich and deep, there wasn't sufficient rain to raise even fair crops, and, sometimes, scarce enough to feed the stock.  They had settled here in the summer of 1892 and here Isaac was born November 15th 1894, Glen—April 13th 1896, Kenneth—August 14th 1898. 

Rush continued to farm the Nebraska homestead until September, 1895, when they moved to Missouri with four children, Ralph—October 30th 1885, Carrie—June 28th 1887, Nellie—February 18th 1889, Calvin—November 16th 1890, and Veva, who died in infancy.  They settled on 160 acres 15 miles southeast of Clinton.  After moving to Missouri, six more children were born, Gaylord—March 7th 1898, Etoile—August 16th 1900, Edwin—September 10th 1902, Otis—August 17th 1904, Harry—November 10th 1906, another child, Mildred, died in infancy.

Will Thornton married Fanny Borders and farmed a quarter section joining the Borders' place on the east.  Their children were Harry—b.1893, Cary—November 11th 1895, Lucielle—February 1st 1898, and a child that died in infancy.

*Some handwritten corrections in Glen's manuscript and family genealogy differ with some names and original spellings.

**More corrections needed here, I just supplied original text as I don't know who made pencil addendums.

*³Glen recorded Albert with the middle name of Smith, someone(?) later crossed out Smith and penciled in Sidney (mystery).

*⁴Harmony Cemetery website lists Elizabeth and sons there.

*⁵ Grove Cemetery website lists Thomas J. and Sarah and baby Eva (d. of Albert and Mabel) there.

*6 Records appear to show that Thomas J.’s wife, Sarah, was actually his first cousin, the daughter of Abraham’s sister Barbara who was married to George Tracy.

CONSUMED BY THE DROUGHT

I do not remember much that happened at Wallace except in the latter years as the folks moved there in 1892 and I wasn't born ‘til April 13th, 1896; but there are some things I remember very well.  One is of my cousin, Leland Lionberger, and I walking from the barn yard out through the stubble field west of our house, to where Dad and a crew was heading grain.  I even remember Leland was walking on my left and the stubble came up almost to our knees, but of course, we couldn't have been much over 3 years old. The reason for me remembering this is that one of our old turkey hens had hid her nest out in the grain field and just as the header came along, she raised up and the sickle cut her legs off so that Dad had to kill her. That was a great tragedy to my tender mind.

We had a nice frame house and a big barn with several grain bins in it but there never was much to put in them, as in all the 7 years we lived there, there was a scarcity of rain and sometimes we hardly raised enough to feed our stock.

Aunt Sallie McIntire lived a half mile east of us and us cousins played together a lot mostly with Bess as Mabel was too old to play, but Isaac and Bess didn't get along too good playing together.  Once they were trying to fix the swing in the barn and Isaac was up on a stack of boxes trying to tie the rope and Bess kicked the boxes out from under him, bringing him down in a heap and he hit his chin on his knee and cut his tongue bad and Bess led him to the house, bleeding like a stuck hog and crying out loud.

I had my share of accidents too.  Once I was running down the cyclone cellar incline and lost my balance and bumped my head against the center post so hard I seen stars.  Another time I ate the heads off some matches, and they had to have the doctor, I also fell off the table and broke my left arm but I don't remember that.

I guess the folks wanted a girl pretty bad so they let Isaac's hair grow and curled it, he was a very pretty girl too, from the neck up but when they wanted to cut it when he went to school, they had a battle on their hands.  Ray and Isaac went to school over east a ways and that left me all alone with nobody to play with, but I was big enough to reach the big steel disks that hung on a rope to bang on to call the men folks to dinner, but I didn't know about time so I'd bar on them any old time I felt like it so they didn't know when to come.

Besides the McIntire's, Uncle Will Lionberger lived close, too, and he had a girl named Hazel that was about my age.  We played pretty good but sometimes if we got in trouble, I'd say old Hazel done it which wasn't always so as I was probably just as much to blame as her.  Anyway, she wasn't old but a very nice pretty girl only I didn't know it, then.  Uncle Ike lived there, too, and he kinda favored us boys over Aunt Sallie's kids for some reason.  I guess maybe he was mad at Aunt Sallie but us kids thought she was the nicest person ever, ceptin’ our own folks.  Of course, Uncle Andy wasn't much for fun but we liked him too.  Uncle Ike used to bounce us on his knee and sing a song about I had a horse called old Ball, hink-tum-a-dink-tum-a-di-dee-o greatest old horse you ever saw, etc.  He could get riled easy though.  Once we was down southeast of the place where there was a big lagoon and Uncle Ike fell down and got soaked and we was coming home, with us kids riding behind old Ball on a sled box, with sides on it so tall we could just see out and Uncle Ike was walking along the side a cussin' and a fummin' something awful.  Him and Tot didn't get along good and he finally left her and took Leland and lit out for section 110 where Uncle Rush lived, on account of him bein' the 'only one he wasn't mad at.­

Uncle Will went back to Iowa, too, and that kinda thinned us cousins out, but there was a crop of second cousins comin’ up as Aunt Sallie's oldest girl, Lena, was married and lived there, too, and she had a girl named Violet about my age.  ­

There was lots of rattlesnakes around there.  One day Dad found a whole den of them and killed them all.  We sure had to watch out for them for if they bit you, you would die if you couldn't get to a doctor right quick and us livin’ so far from town we might not make it.  Of course, everyone knew that if a rattlesnake bit someone, the first thing to do was take a jack knife and spit some tobacco juice on it to kill the germs and cut the place open where the bite was and suck the blood out and spit it out.  But if you was alone and got bit on the back of the leg there wasn't much you could do but try to run for help.  If you could run for help but that poison went through you fast and you didn't have much time for anything.

The stork came every 2 years and on Aug. 14th, 1898 he brought another boy, Kenneth, that made it pretty good for Mother though, as the last one was up and walkin’ good so she could spend most of her time with the new baby.

On the last 4th of July we lived there we went to a big celebration at Braus Lake, about 5 miles southeast of our place.  Everybody was there for miles around and we played games and had sack races and a ball game.  Then, at night, they danced on an outside dance floor.  We had ice cream, Slemonade and a big picnic dinner. In the afternoon a very dark cloud formed in the west and they thought it would spoil the night doin’s but it passed around and they  danced ‘til way after midnight with Dad doin’ the fiddlin' as he was the only one left since Uncle Rush, Uncle Will and Uncle Ike had left.

It was still dark when we got home and when we drove in the yard Dad says something looks awful queer about the barn and when he got out to it he saw that the whole west half of the roof and gable end was gone but he didn't know where 'cause it was too dark to see. The next morn­ing he found it scattered all over the north pasture but none of the stock was killed or bad hurt. We knew then that the black cloud that missed the 4th of July celebration had got us instead and we knew it was a cyclone 'cause there was a milk pail still setting on the milk house that would have blown off in a strong wind.

That was a terrible disaster to happen to us with the drought so hard on us as we didn't have the means to put the roof back on and would have to go in debt, but our troubles wasn't over yet for the next day another large black cloud came up from the west and it looked so bad Dad took the stock out of the barn.  This was just a strong wind with heavy rain and it caught the open end of the barn and took the rest of the roof off and laid it upside down on the east side of the barn, leaving the whole building open to the cloud burst which soaked the grain and everything good – or, rather, bad.  That done it- Dad says- we're gittin' out of here while gittin's good and he went up in the sand hills and filed on 160 acres 14 miles southwest of North Platte.

In the fall he had a sale for what things we wouldn't need in the sand hills and sold the barn and house and they hauled them off.  I remember them sawing the house in two so they could move it.  Mother felt pretty bad about giving up her nice house but it wasn't no good to us if we couldn't make a living there.

Dad had taken the hen house down and hauled it up and set it up for us to live in, so all that was left when we got ready to move was the well and cyclone cellar, and we didn't even get to use that when we had a cyclone so it wasn't much like leavin’ home 'cause there wasn't nothin' much to leave.

The drought sure had been hard on us.  All the money we got from the settlement of the estate in Illinois was gone and about all we had left was the household goods, some milk cows and a few range cattle, horses, machinery, and chickens, and they had to roost under the wagon 'cause we had to have their house to live in.  Dad had taken most of the fence up to build fences and corrals for the milk cows.

We hated to leave the McIntires, and we kids sure would miss Aunt Sallie as she was always so good to us, but we would be over 30 miles away and couldn't go see them hardly ever.  Of course, none of us but Dad had ever seen where we was movin' to.  All we knew was that it was twice as far from North Platte as we were from Wallace and it was in the sand hills which would be different from where we lived as it was pretty level here.  Dad had sold the header as we wouldn't be needing it, as it was too sandy to raise grain in the Sand Hills.

It was raining the day we left (maybe the drought was over) but it was too late for us. We were all huddled under a canvas over the wagon box, that is Mother and us kids. Isaac was drivin' and Ray was helping Dad and Uncle Andy drive the cattle.  We got a late start and didn't even get half way the first day as we had to stay behind the stock as Dad was the only one that knew the way.

That was the first time we had ever really camped out and it was fun cooking over the camp fire and sleeping in the wagon. Of course, the rain had stopped or it might not have been so fun. Uncle Andy had went over to a place to see about watering the stock the next morning and he didn't come back for so long that Dad went to look for him. He had got lost in the dark as them sand hills all looked alike in the day time and they was even worse at night, but Dad finally hollered him in.

It was almost dark when we got to our new home next day and we were so tired we just made our beds on the floor after Mother got us all a good supper, so, we were all ready to start over again and we sure hoped it would be a lot better than Wallace.

Life in the Sandhills

When we got up the next morning and looked around, we sure thought we had landed in the middle of nowhere.  As far as we could see in every direction there was nothing but sand hills covered with dry grass and not a tree or bush or road in sight, not even a house.  Except way over southeast, 2 miles, there was some buildings where Dad said the Hardins' lived.  The only other neighbor was the Donaldsons who lived out of sight up north.  He had dug us a well but we didn't have any windmill yet, just a hand pump.  The only building on our place was the hen house we lived in.  There wasn't any shelter for the stock, just some barb wire corrals.  The only other building was the necessary.  That stood out a ways from the house.  One thing sure, we wasn't going to be crowded  none by neighbors, for a while at least, but it sure was going to be crowded in that little 12 foot by 16 foot chicken coop, after living in the big frame house at Wallace.

It was a good thing Ray and Isaac was going to school and Dad had to be out with the stock all day as that only left me and Kenneth under foot or I don't know what Mother would have done.  We managed to keep pretty comfortable, though, through the winter, as that place was so small it didn't take much to heat it, with just the cook stove which we had managed some coal for.  Dad and the boys had made a kind of a shelter for the milk cows by building two barb wire fences about 2 feet apart and stuffing wild prairie hay in between which Dad had cut before we moved up.  The trouble was, though, the hungry old cows would eat holes through the hay every night so it had to be stuffed again.

It wasn't such a hard winter on us because we could keep warm but it was pretty tough on the stock as we didn't have much feed and they had to depend on the range for most of their feed.  When the ground was covered with snow they had pretty slim pickin's. 

One day a blizzard hit us and we had the cattle up in the corral and they was getting restless with their backs to the storm.  Dad had his outside clothes on watching from the window as he was afraid they would break the fence down, which they sure did and were gone with the wind and snow.  Dad started after them with Mother trying to stop him, telling him he might get lost and freeze to death but Dad says, I'll have to go after them, they're all that stands between us and starvation.  So out he went, but, as luck would have it, the storm let up and he got them all back.

We sure was glad when spring came and we could get out and stretch ourselves.  The first thing we had to do was fence in as much of the homestead as we could so we wouldn't have to spend so much time herding the stock as they could go as far as they liked in any direction.  Of course, we could buy barb wire at the store—if we had the money—but something to string it on was something else as there was no timber of any kind for miles around and we couldn't afford to buy posts and wire, too.  There was cotton wood down on the Platte River but it was so soft and brittle it broke off or rotted away easy. The best place to get posts was down on Jack Morrow flats but that was 20 miles and it took 2 days to make the trip.

As soon as the ground could be plowed, Dad broke up several acres to plant corn and he picked a good piece of bottom land to plow up for garden as we sure needed to raise everything we could to eat as there wasn't hardly any money to spare for store feed.  There was plenty of things to do when spring came and when Ray and Isaac got out of school they had to pitch right in and help with the crops, besides tendin' the chores.  With the grass comin' up green the cows gave more milk which helped out a lot as Mother could save more cream for butter and she made it up with a pound mold and wrapped it in wax paper with our name on it and traded it in at Rush Mercantile Co. for flour and sugar and things we had to have.

As soon as the corn was planted we picked out a spot on a little knoll about 200 feet south of the little house to build a sod house on.  There was lots of good tough sod in the low places out there, the grass was thick which we broke up with a breaking plow in strips a foot wide and 4 inches thick and cut into 2 foot lengths and hauled them on the wagon with just planks on so we wouldn’t have to lift the sod so high.  We just leveled the ground off and laid the sod up like brick only we made the walls 2 feet wide and used dirt for mortar to fill in the cracks.

It was pretty hard work and Dad had to do most of it, but Ray and Isaac helped all they could.  It was while we was hauling the sod that we almost had a terrible tragedy.  We had taken Kenneth along and as we was coming back with a load of sod we stopped by the little house to let him off and Dad just let him down with his hand over the side of the wagon and let go but Kenneth wasn't but 2 years old and he fell with his head right in front of the back wheel and Ray was already cluckin’ to the horses to start them, but Dad yelled Whoa, Whoa and jumped off and grabbed him out of the way just in time.  It was a good thing the horses was slow startin’ or Ken would have been bad hurt or killed as there was over a ton of sod on the wagon.

When the wild prairie hay was ready to cut, we had to stop the house buildin’ and make hay.  We just cut the best part of it as we had plenty of land and the grass was too thin to pay in most places.  Dad walked ahead of the mower with Ray drivin’ and picked out the best pieces and Isaac drove the rake team and bunched it up in windrows.  It was pretty dry when we cut it and didn’t have to cure much. It was mostly bunch grass and wild timothy with some milk weed mixed in and there was a kind of tough brush called ‘shoestring’ which was awful hard to cut and it dulled the sickle pretty fast. 

That's where I come in.  It was my job to turn the grind stone while Dad ground the sickle knives.  It was about 5 feet long—the sickle I mean—and it sure took a long time to get to that last sickle knife.  Then we had to go back on the other side and by that time I was plenty tired and Dad was all wet down in front where the water from the drip can on top that kept the grind stone wet had spewed out on him.

We didn't have any way to stack the hay except to pitch it on the hay rack and haul it to the stack and pitch it off on the stack.  Dad done the pitchin' on and off and Ray and Isaac done the stackin’. 

There was a lot of grasshoppers at hayin’ time and the ‘darning needles’ about 4 inches long would crawl up your back, but the worst pest was the ‘buffalo gnats’ buzzin’ in your ears.  Then there was another kind of grasshopper about as big as a mouse without any wings but that didn't keep it from crawlin’ up inside your pant legs and scarin' the daylights out of you, thinkin’ it might be a centipede or something.

With us just workin’ on the house between corn plowin’ and hayin’, it took all summer to get it built.  It sure took a lot of sod as it was about 40 feet long and 24 feet wide with 2 foot thick walls and a layer of sod on the roof over tarpaper.  Of course, we had to make the roof pretty strong to carry the weight.  We had a large kitchen on the west end with a big living room in the middle and two bedrooms on the other end.  We had wood partitions with lath on them, but we was so anxious to get moved out of that hot chicken coop that Dad never got the partitions plastered.  So Mother pasted paper over them so you couldn't see thru.  The sod walls was trimmed off inside and Dad plastered them and we just had a paper ceiling and, of course, a wood floor.  One good thing, it didn't take much lumber 'cause we was awful hard up and it took a lot of scrimpin' to buy what we had to have.  It wasn't near as nice as the Wallace house but we was glad to have more room and a new house even if it was a soddy.

After the garden got big enough to use, we had a better livin' and Mother canned all we couldn't eat, such as beans, tomatoes, beets, etc. She made watermelon preserves and pickles and even mush melon butter. The watermelons done real good there so we had all we wanted to eat which helped fill us kids up - with water at least.  There wasn't any kind of fruit in the sand hills except buffalo berries and they wasn't much good eatin’.  The closest fruit was a mulberry grove on a timber claim way down south that someone had gone off and left and we would go down and pick them.  They wasn't too good to eat raw but made pretty good pie when you didn't have anything better.  There was, also, wild plums down on the South Platte River.  They made good butter and jam and was about the best fruit we could get.

It was a good thing we got moved into the sod house 'cause the stork brought another baby boy on December 4th and we sure wouldn't have had room for any more in that cracker box.  We named him Earl and now Ken had to play ‘second fiddle’ but he was 2 years old and getting around pretty good, but our family sure was gettin’ awful lopsided with boys.

We was a lot better fixed to go thru the winter than the year before 'cause we could heat the sod house easy and it didn't take much fuel which was mostly hay, which was cheap and easy to get.  A good wad of it jammed into the old tin ‘trash burner’ would warm the house quite a spell 'cause the heat couldn't get out thru them 2 foot thick sod walls and sod roof and the windows would get stuck in the winter time so we couldn't raise them so the only cold air that could get in was when we opened the door to get in and out.

We fixed a better place for the stock by digging out a place on the south side of a hill west of the house and making a frame of poles with willows over them and hay on top with the south side open to the winter sun. It made a pretty good shelter and kept the cold north wind off.

We had several stacks of hay up and had raised enough corn to feed the work horses and some hogs to butcher as well as corn meal for ourselves. The range cattle and milk cows had to get their livin' out on the range except when the snow was too deep for them to get at the grass.  We had managed to get most of the homestead fenced so the stock didn't need so much herding, but thru the summer we had to ride herd on them  pretty close to keep them from straying as they always seemed to think the grass was just a little better over the next hill. 

Our house was on the southwest corner of the quarter section 18, about 100 yards from the southwest corner and 100 feet from the south line with most of the farm land lying in the middle half of the quarter section with our hay land scattered over the rest of the place.

There was a family by the name of Tichnor, lived over north east about 2 miles, who Dad herded cattle for some.  We visited back and forth some—but never got too well acquainted with them or the Hardins as they were so far away. A year or so later 'the Hardins moved away and a family by the name of Broder moved on their place, also, the Tichnor's left and Zimmerman's moved on their place.  They had two boys, Sidney and Maurice, but the Broders' was runnin' neck and neck with us, with us one ahead in the family, with five to their four, Louie, Lizzie, Bill, and Hank.

We had new neighbors to the north a mile and a half but the young man died and the Fowler's moved on their place.  They had an adopted son, Johnnie.  Uncle Rolla Crosby came up from Kearney and filed on the quarter section west of us.  He had married Mother's youngest sister, Belle.  They had two boys, Ernest and Arthur, just Ray and Isaac's age.  They built a small sod house about 200 yards northwest of ours and broke up some land on the northwest part of the place.  They figured on raising feed cattle mostly.  It was pretty nice for Mother to have a sister so close as she never got to see much of her folks since they left Kearney and that give us boys somebody to play with, too. 

With money so scarce, Mother tried to save all the cream she could spare to make into butter 'cause the butter and the extra eggs was all we had to trade at the store for things we had to have, but with seven hungry mouths to feed she had to do a lot of scrimpin’.  One good thing, we had lots of skim milk and cornmeal which was our mainstay lots of times.  But we seemed to thrive on it as we growed fast.  Early in the spring as soon as they got big enough, we'd go out and gather ‘lamb quarters’ and pig weeds for greens ‘til the garden greens got ready to use.

In the fall we'd butcher a beef and a hog or two.  The beef butcherin’ wasn't so bad as we just cut it up into quarters and hung it up to freeze but the hog butcherin’ was a messy job as it was generally too cold to work outside and we’d bring it in the kitchen and cut it up on the table.  We cleaned the intestines to stuff the sausage in and that was a stinkin’ job.  The part us kids liked best was the bladder which we'd clean out and blow up for a punchin’ bag.  We didn't waste much, even the head was cooked up and the meat picked off for head cheese, and we'd use the feet right down to the hoofs, and even the tail.  Dad always liked to suck the marrow out of the bone hollow, but we kids couldn't go that stuff.  The part we liked best was the liver and tenderloin—that went fast.

We had put more corn in, in the spring, so we had more feed to fatten some hogs to sell and feed the milk cows thru the winter so they'd stay up on their milk better.  We had also bought the half section of 18 south of us for more range and hay land. 

One of the problems we had was fuel for the cook stove as we couldn't use hay for that and we couldn't always afford coal.  Of course, we used all the corn cobs after the hogs had eaten the corn off, but there wasn't near enough of them, so we'd take a wagon and go out on the prairie and pick up all the dry ‘cow chips’ we could.  They'd burn after a fashion but made more smoke than fire sometimes and Mother had a time baking bread with them which she had to do about every week with us kids raiding the bread box between meals. 

It took half a day to bake a batch of bread, even after it was mixed and put in the dishpan to rise the night before.  Then the next morning it had to be worked and set to rise in the bread pans and the baking took constant poking and prodding at the cobs or cow chips to coax them to burn and when it was done and out of the oven she'd have to watch us kids like a chicken hawk or we'd make off with half a loaf before it was cool. Mother sure could make good bread though.  She ought to, she had lots of practice and there was nothing better than a slice of her hot bread with butter and tomato jam on it.

I started to school the fall of 1902.  The schoolhouse was over east a mile and a half.  It was just one room about 24 foot by 40 foot, with a blackboard across the back and a platform where the teacher sat behind her desk in the middle. To one side of the front door a corner was boarded up a ways for a coal bin.  There was a big high potbellied stove in the center of the room and the desks were wide enough for two but there was never over twenty scholars so we could have a desk all to ourselves.  There was an acre in the school grounds which was fenced in with a barn down in the hollow for those that rode or drove horses.

I had been awful anxious to go to school but I didn't know about havin’ to set still so long, in one place and—I got pretty fidgety, but we got out for recess, 15 minutes in the morning and afternoon and a whole hour at noon, so that gave us a chance to limber-up.

When Ray and Isaac went to school they rode old Minnie but three was too much for her so Dad made a sled that would slide on the thick grass after it got packed down good and it slid pretty good, too, only we'd have to make a new run for it when the old one wore out.  Once old Minnie run away with us and didn't stop ‘til she got to the east line fence gate, but the sled was low to the ground and we kids didn't get much scared 'cause all we could have done was tumble off on the grass.

The teacher ‘boarded around’ with the different families as it was too far to go to North Platte every night.  Anyway, they couldn't afford to board and lodge themselves with the pay they was getting. 

It was quite a problem fixing our lunch for school and sometimes there wasn't much to fix them with but Mother always managed something like leftover pancakes and bacon sandwiches and sometimes fried mush or scrambled egg sandwiches and sometimes she'd make sugar cookies and once in a great while Dad would get a paper bag of gingersnaps or maybe some apples or bananas, but we mostly got them for Christmas.  We took our lunch in a gallon bucket and sometimes there was an argument who got the extra sand­wich or cookie, but one thing sure, there wasn't anything left.

I guess the stork thought Dad had enough help so on February 26th, 1903 he brought us a baby sister and we named her Edith and even though she was a girl we didn't have to have any new clothes 'cause they dressed babies all alike and the ones Earl grew out of was all right.

It was awful hard to set in school when spring came and the snow was going fast and things started to pop up out of the ground and the melted snow water was running in little streams and fillin' up the hollow places, making little ponds of water.  Each day they filled up a little more and we was anxious to see how full they was each day after school was out.  Then, we didn't mind walkin' to and from school 'cause there was so much to see.

At night the ponds would freeze over a little but not hard enough to skate on.  Down southeast of the house about 100 yards was the ‘big pond’ which was about 40 feet across.  It nearly always had water in it, but it was only about a foot deep.  It was what was called a ‘buffalo wallow’ that was made by the buffalo, before they were all killed off, when they waded and rolled in the shallow ponds to cool off and get rid of the flies.  Then they'd go out on the